Singapore Dawn
by Phineas Redux
Summary: An Uberfiction set in 1911 in which a tall dark lady and her blonde female friend go on a cruise to Singapore. They travel from a sense of adventure, and find what they seek.


—OOO—

'**Singapore Dawn'**

**Summary:—** An Uberfiction set in 1911 in which a tall dark lady and her blonde female friend go on a cruise to Singapore. They travel from a sense of adventure, and find what they seek.

**Note:—** The Singapore I describe is not a precise sketch of the real city of 1911, more of an impression; although I have tried to stay true to geographical features and layout.

**Disclaimer:—** MCA/Universal/RenPics own all copyrights to everything related to '_Xena: Warrior Princess_' and I have no rights to them. But then again, _my_ tale has nothing to do with '_Xena_' (wink-wink!), so _I_ own all copyrights to the following story.

—O—

Chapter 1.

"How _did_ we find ourselves in Singapore, Helen?"

The tall dark woman, leaning on the second-storey balcony rail, glanced back into the hotel room at her friend enquiringly.

"Don't come the innocent with me, darling." Helen, on the other hand, was having no truck with self-pity. "You know this whole debacle is down to you.

"Well, I felt like a change of air."

"Hardly worth voyaging half-way round the world on a long sea cruise just to experience a change of air. We could have gone to Cromer!" Helen was still a little huffy, in a resigned sort of way; after all, it was too late now. "The Riviera, or Switzerland, would have suited me perfectly."

Helen Cayley and Ayala Carrin had both been passengers on the liner '_Ophir_', newly docked after a long sea voyage from India. At present they were comfortably ensconced in the '_Raffles_' Hotel, a magnificent example of both high-class refinement and commerce. What had motivated their long cruise was a legacy left to Ayala from a distant Great-Aunt who had, so Helen told her friend jokingly, never actually experienced living with the tall dark, self-opinionated Amazon for any length of time. Helen was nothing if not precise in her descriptions. Being Ayala's best friend Helen had been dragooned into accompanying her on the voyage; though Helen insisted on paying for her ticket from her own adequate means.

The legacy, it should be said, was a large town-house in Singapore, with all its contents intact. There had also been a clause saying that certain unspecified jewellery, at present stowed in the vaults of the Singapore Mutual Bank, was wholly Ayala's property too. So here both women were.

"Have you noticed the heat, Ayala?"

Ayala, heretofore draped comfortably over the balcony rail listening to and looking at the multitude of traffic and passers-by on the main road outside, turned to negotiate the various furniture hazards of the hotel suite sitting-room with elegant grace. Now she sat in a wide curved cane chair, perfectly at ease in her white linen equatorial dress.

"There _is_ a certain warmth to the atmosphere, Helen." Ayala liked her joke, now and then. "And a general lack of the usual chilly tinge to the air. Why? Are you feeling ill?"

"Don't be childish." The heat had long since disposed of Helen's temper. "It's only 9.20 a. m., an' it's precisely 78 degrees by the thermometer on the wall here. 78 degrees, Ayala! And the barometer next to it says the humidity is almost equal. I'm turning into a wet rag. If this keeps up there'll be nothing left of me by this evening but a damp stain on the floorboards, I warn you!"

"Lady Calladyce appears to be surviving well enough." Ayala allowed a note of humour to enter her voice. "Perhaps she may have some handy hints which might afford your survival in these terrible conditions."

"Damn Lady Calladyce!" Helen brought recent disasters to mind. "She stung me for fifty pounds in total over those games of euchre we played each evening on the ship. You might have warned me she was a card-sharp!"

"Ha-Ha!" Ayala laughed, but not unkindly. "She ain't a card-sharp. Just a damn sight better player than you, dear. That's how she does it. By figuring out the odds, an' then playing with people who can hardly add to double figures."

"Very funny. This is the difficulty about there only being one reasonable Hotel in this town." Helen pursued another grievance that had niggled her. "You skip the ship, leaving behind all those miserable bores who made your outward voyage so intolerable. Then find they've all congregated together at the same Hotel; _your_ Hotel! It's like escaping from Hades, only to trip and fall into Tartarus!"

Helen had been busy at a sideboard during this diatribe, and now brought a silver tray with a jug of iced tea and glasses over to the little table between the cane chairs.

"Here, take your tea, Ayala. God, I need it myself. Aah! That's good. God, this climate's so damn hot n'sticky."

"Are ya nearly ready for our jaunt, then?" Ayala scrutinised the petite blonde beside her. Pale golden hair, green eyes, and a purposeful character. Yet also a great friend. "Say, time's moving on. You've only got about an hour t'change your clothes; figure that'll be long enough? Can ya tie your own boot-laces, or shall I?"

"Idiot." Helen fired back her own broadside. "Where's that map? We'll never find anywhere, never mind your new house, without it."

"I got it, don't fret." Ayala smiled. "You'd think the solicitors back in London would've enclosed a map of the house's location in Singapore. I bet the solicitors here did just that; but the London office mislaid it. Anyway, we can easily find it ourselves. Shouldn't be difficult."

"You hope." Helen was less than certain of this, but merely shrugged. "We should be back about the middle of the afternoon, I suppose. What about the sun, Ayala? Should I wear a wide-brimmed hat with a thick veil; or would some of that new-fangled sun cream ointment be easier? It's in that big trunk in the bedroom; d'you think you could unpack it while I have a quick bath, dearest?"

"Huh! Do I call you ma'am, mistress, or your admirable Ladyship. Am I your flunkey, or what?" Ayala felt like being contrary. "Get it yourself. An' what's with a bath in the middle of the morning?"

"_Knock! Knock!_"

"Oh God!" Helen nearly choked on her iced tea. "Answer the door, there's a dear, Ayala."

"Why should I?" Ayala continued her defiant stance. "You're nearest it. Exercise is good for you, anyway."

"Ayala!" The short blonde nearly hissed this at her recalcitrant friend. "It's Lady Calladyce! I recognise her knock. Go on."

"Not a chance. Fight your own battles, girl." Ayala took another long sip of cool tea, and gave her frowning companion a gracious smile. "I should open the door, Helen. Lady Calladyce is liable to start kicking it at any moment, I believe."

"Ayala, you really are —"

"_Knock! Knock! Knock! Knock!_"

Taking all her courage in both hands Helen crossed to the door and opened it wide.

"Hello, Helen. So nice to see you again. Isn't it wonderful to be on dry land once more?" The Lady in question smiled somewhat tensely, and gazed past Helen into the room. "Any chance of a chair an' a glass of iced tea? I, er, would like your assistance."

"Oh, come in, by all means." Helen stood back and waved a hand rather vapidly. "Miss Carrin has nothing important in her schedule, and will not mind visitors, I'm sure."

But Ayala had forestalled her friend, and Helen's sarcastic words were wasted. Ayala had risen and now casually indicated the group of wicker chairs near the open balcony windows.

"Lady Calladyce, a pleasure to see you. I had no idea you would also be domiciled here. Pray be seated." She was nothing if not the perfect host. "If Helen will be so good as to pour, there is a pot of iced tea and glasses on the small table."

Lady Calladyce wore, as both Helen and Ayala had immediately perceived on her first entrance, the latest in 1911 fashion. From the House of Redfern, Helen surmised. For a couple of minutes there was only the tinkle of glasses and the usual sounds concomitant with a small tea-party to be heard. Then, when everyone was settled, Helen opened the discussion.

"So Lady Calladyce, is there something to which we owe your visit?" She looked at the tall woman with a trifle less than delight. "If it's a matter of those card—"

"Oh no, nothing like that, my dear." The honey-blonde Lady jumped in nervously. "In fact, perhaps it's just as well if we both simply forgot about that. Merely a game between friends, don't y'know. No need for money to change hands at all, in fact."

"That's very kind of you." Helen, though remaining as impassive as the Egyptian Colossi of Memnon, was inwardly vastly relieved. Fifty pounds being a large chunk of her available funds. She wouldn't be playing cards again in the near future, with anyone. "Well, if there's anything we both can do for you?"

"Er, this may sound rather foolish, at first glance." The Lady fiddled nervously with a silver teaspoon, the '_Raffles_' not shrinking from doing its guests proud, and glanced from one to the other of her listeners. "Actually I need to go to a place somewhere on the river-front. I know the address, but don't like the idea of wandering around alone; so I wondered if I might prevail on one of you kind ladies to accompany me?"

Lady Calladyce was tall, blonde with long honey-coloured hair, and around the early thirties in age. She had a somewhat narrow face with features which unfortunately, when she attempted a smile, generally exhibited a snarl rather than gracious charm. But at the present moment she did seem, to both her listeners, truly worried. Realising this, Helen's natural courtesy came to the fore.

"Hey, Ayala, we're doin' much the same, ain't we?" Helen turned wide green eyes on her friend, with a concealed frown Lady Calladyce missed. "Shouldn't be any extra trouble to us."

After a few seconds wavering, while she struggled to understand her friend's inference, Ayala rallied.

"Oh, yeah." The dark-haired lady spoke in her deep contralto. "That sounds great. Yeah, no problem."

"Everything's settled then." Helen gave her companion a relieved look. "So, Lady Calladyce, We'll be glad to accompany you along the river."

"Oh, I'm most grateful, I'm sure." The Lady looked openly relieved, and even sighed in pleasure. "But, er, if Miss Ayala has some important—"

"No. Oh, no. Nothing. Nothing that can't keep." Ayala glanced from Helen to the Lady and back. She didn't exactly smile, but there was some kind of grimace of the lips. "I'll be only too pleased if you join us, Lady Calladyce."

"I'm really most grateful for your assistance. Shall we say 11.00 a. m.? We could meet in the Lounge downstairs." The Lady rose to leave, the folds of her long summer dress flowing around her ankles. "By the way, I think my title is rather distancing; between dear friends, y'know. Please call me Callisto."

—O—

To the citizens of the great port the morning was sweet and fresh; to newly arrived Westerners the heat and particularly the humidity were appalling. Helen had opted against a hat; placing her faith in a parasol and a liberal application of sun cream (guaranteed to keep a lady's complexion soft and untanned under the most trying circumstances, or so Dr Jameson claimed on the packet). Whether the worthy Doctor had ever experienced Singapore's climate before was not stated.

Boat Quay, on the opposite side of the Singapore River, was a hive of colourful and noisy activity when the three women arrived. They had taken three ricksha's from the Hotel, going down North Bridge Road and across to the other side of the Singapore River. Here, on the curving shoreline which made up Boat Quay, were literally hundreds of _tongkangs_, long open wooden boats or barges known as bumboats, which carried cargo up and down the river.

The river itself was lined by a stone sea-wall of no great height, where the tongkangs could tie up and unload anywhere along its length. Behind this was a narrow lane or promenade for foot and wheeled traffic; this being itself lined by an almost continuous row of buildings. These comprised two, three, or rarely four-storied houses, warehouses, and shops of all descriptions. At several points the buildings were broken by the entrances to side-streets giving off the riverside walk, these also containing a multitude of shops.

The houses lining Boat Quay were generally stone-built, originally white in colour, now faded to various shades of cream or grey; and roofed with red or orange tiles in a range of tones depending on their age and weathering ability. The streets and the Quay itself were thronged with crowds of Singaporeans going about their business; either carrying stock to a warehouse, casually shopping, or engaged in merely personal business. Amongst this mass of people in their colourful Chinese-style dress and straw hats were several white-suited foreigners; or groups of ladies with wide-brimmed hats, whose long pale-coloured dresses reached to their ankles, accompanied by gentlemen in tropical suits and swinging walking-canes. The whole place shimmered with exotic life and the high-pitched voices of the milling crowds. Most European women would have let it be known they were enchanted by the spectacle; Helen and Ayala, were, on the other hand, astonished and somewhat taken aback by such a noisy manifestation of so much vibrant activity. Lady Calladyce seemed to take it all in her stride.

"God, look at all this." Helen was first to react to the sight in general. "I've never seen anything like it."

They had left their ricksha's at the bridge and were now walking along the Quay towards the river-mouth; the curving river-bank, and boat-covered river itself, stretching out in a wide vista ahead of them.

"Reminds me of the Thames on Boat Race Day."

Lady Calladyce made this remark as she held her parasol a little higher. The crowds of Singaporeans were thrusting their way along the Quay going about their loud chattering business with no respect for English Ladies. She was actually being shoved about by the hoi polloi as she walked; which would certainly have been, to an unsuspecting lady of delicate sensibilities, a new experience in itself.

"Yeah. Ya got'ta push an' shove first." Ayala had, as usual, a suitable answer. "Everyone's too busy to think of polite conduct. Just press on regardless when it's needed; no-one'll care."

"Where are we going, anyway?" Helen was walking by Ayala's right side, with Lady Calladyce on the tall dark woman's left-hand. "This house of yours, Ayala. Where is it?"

"Good Grief, _I_ don't know." Ayala shrugged and grimaced in a very un-ladylike manner. "All I have is the address, and that map you're squeezing in your sweaty mitt, Helen."

Addressed in this down-to-earth way the blonde simply frowned, with eyebrows raised in mock derision, and commenced to unfold the said document.

"Is this going to be the answer to all your prayers then, Ayala?" Helen sniffed mockingly. "OK. What's the address, again?"

"127d Boat Quay." Ayala had taken a sheet of paper from her reticule and read from the notes on it. "I think it's either a corner house. On the corner of one of these alleys you see every now and then. Or actually somewhere along one of the alleys itself."

"We're on Boat Quay, so all these alleys or lanes head up to the next main thoroughfare; which, it says here, is something called Circular Road." Helen studied the map closely, before raising her head to gaze at her two listeners. "Though it ain't a circle at all. Really just a sort'a bendy lane, by the looks of it."

"Humph. Let's carry on, and see what we see." Ayala stared haughtily at Lady Calladyce and Helen. "Well, it's a plan!"

"A damn silly plan." Helen nevertheless folded her map and set off along the less than clean Quay, giving as good as she got in the jostling crowd. "Come on! Hurry up."

As they continued walking along they could not escape the astonishing sight of scores of tongkangs lying in rows and groups all along the river's edge. Many tied to the stone river-wall, with thin bouncing wooden ramps connecting boat to shore; but most joined together by ropes or just anchored out on the water itself. The view, at least to a newly arrived tourist, was remarkable in its almost glamorous drama. The rippling water; bright blue sky overhead drenching everything in light and colour and heat; the ranks of moored tongkangs, with an odd few actually being steered up or down-river by men wielding long oars; and the shambling rows of busy warehouses and shops, made the scene alluring to even the weakest of romantic European natures.

"We haven't asked you, er, Callisto, about the place _you_ want to find." Ayala glanced at the tall honey-blonde. "You know where you're going?"

"Oh yes." Callisto nodded with an assured air. "It's a Company. A warehouse, I think. They deal in precious and semi-precious stones. A lady-friend of mine left an emerald necklace of hers there six months ago, to be re-set and have a new stone added. She asked me, as I was coming here, to pick it up for her. And I know the precise address, which isn't far away. But there's no hurry at all. We must find your house first, of course. I look on this as quite an adventure. I think."

For all their conversation the ladies had only penetrated around two hundred yards along the Quay. The crowds of workers, shoppers, and very numerous and talkative passers-by, held anyone to the slowest of walks. Even Ayala's determined thrusting and ruthless shoving made little headway, amongst groups of Singaporean men and women well used to this activity. Anyway, the European women were far too interested in the surrounding buildings, people, and colourful life all round to worry about rushing to reach their destination.

"Hey! Look at all these Chinese signs hanging from the front of the shops and buildings." Helen was enthralled by all this. "Wish I could read Chinese. It's a beautiful language. Wonder what they say."

"I'm not so good at speaking it, the pronunciation y'know, but I can read Chinese well enough." Having provided this thunderbolt of erudition, Lady Calladyce went on to prove it. "The notice above us here says the cook-shop specialises in _bak kut teh_, pork rib soup. The shop next along is a restaurant too, and the sign there tells us it sells _claypot chicken rice_, soy sauce rice with braised chicken and Chinese sausage. Each food-shop tends to specialise in a particular dish, you see."

"Gosh, that's wonderful Lad—er, Callisto." Helen was impressed. "How did you come to learn Chinese?"

"My father brought my mother and I out to Shanghai, where he worked, when I was a little girl." Callisto smiled at Helen. "I soon picked up what the Chinese girls were saying all round me. Well, you had to or remain dumb; which would have been stupid. And, of course, once learned never forgotten, as they say. This next building, with the dirty cream paint and the wide entrance—the three-story warehouse here—has a sign that informs the refined client that cane chairs and light furniture of supreme quality are to be had, at reasonable rates."

"So the signs are all sort'a utilitarian, then?" Ayala looked at Callisto, as they walked on along the Quay. "I mean the Chinese—ideographs, are they called—look as if they conceal all the truths of Life and Philosophy. But really they just say '_entrance_' or '_exit_', and '_we sell pastries'_ or '_furniture_'—like any ordinary shop in the Edgware Road back in London?"

"Well, it's a little unromantic to put it that way, if you don't mind me saying so. And the characters—hanzi, they're called—aren't really ideographs at all. More phonetic, if you see what I mean." Lady Calladyce pursed her lips as she explained. "Chinese is a beautiful language—in form and meaning. It may say humdrum things, but in the most beautiful way, as Helen noticed."

They continued walking, or rather pushing their way, along the not-wide-enough Quay. The road was semi-paved with cobbles, large flagstones, or just plain earth here and there. None of these surfaces were at all even in any recognised way, so the women were constantly tripping and stumbling; or trying to step round the more disagreeable obstacles. The Quay being wide enough for carts, there were numerous donkeys, asses, and horses clip-clopping along or standing by their stationary vehicles—with the usual accompaniments of these beasts.

"_Aargh!_ I nearly stepped in—"

"But you didn't, Helen." Ayala was having no whining. "Just keep one eye on the ground; one eye on the crowds; and the other eye on where we're going. You sure you're reading that map properly?"

"With three eyes, how could I go wrong?" Helen growled in irony at her friend. "Yeah. I got our route sorted out. What's the number on this shop here—118? Hum. Well—well—I think the house should be on the corner of the next lane. See it? Thirty yards along, there. Let's go."

The building, when they reached it, showed as somewhat ordinary at first glance. Like many others nearby it sported well-weathered paintwork, which may at some antediluvian date have been yellow, but was now a dull grey. It was of three storeys and stood, as had been noted, on the corner of Boat Quay and an anonymous lane leading up to Circular Road. There was a single entrance exactly on the corner, closed off at the moment by a firmly shut blue door; the blue colour obviously at least three tones lighter than its original manifestation. From a second-storey window hung a Chinese cloth sign, rippling in the breeze—a sign which appeared to hold Lady Calladyce's whole attention.

"Well, what does it say?" Ayala had noticed Callisto's hesitation."Can you read it?"

"Oh yes. Certainly." The honey-blonde turned to look Ayala straight in the eye. "Are you quite sure of the address?"

"It seems to be the correct building." Ayala perused the sheet of paper in her hand once more. "At least, going by the instructions and address I have here. So?"

"It's a boarding-house." Lady Calladyce looked from one of her companions to the other. "And in this locality I should imagine that can only mean sailors and low-class tongkang workers. Perhaps including women who work in the local shops and eating-houses."

"Hah! That's a surprise." Helen uttered a low snigger, as she aimed a wide grin at her tall dark friend. "So, you're going into the hotel trade, Ayala. Will Mr Langham and Mr Claridge need to pull their socks up from now on?"

"Well—" But Ayala didn't continue—apparently lost for words as she once again glanced over the grey, but seemingly well-kept building.

"Oh look. The door's not locked." Helen grinned even wider as she took a step forward, beckoning those behind her to follow. "Let's go in and rouse the concierge. You have to take control of your new business, y'know, Ayala. Will you raise the room prices immediately, or decorate the place first an' scare the customers that way? The outside certainly needs a new coat of Singapore Sun-bleached Beige."

"Very funny." Ayala stepped up to the open door, gesturing Lady Calladyce to enter ahead of her. "If I do you'll be the one with the paint brush, Helen. Will two Straits Settlements Dollars a day be sufficient? Or will you call the Singapore House-Painters Guild out on strike till you make me give you three dollars?"

"Huh!" Helen sneered back, in a gentlewomanly way, of course. "Judging by the paintwork we've seen on the houses round here so far there's only three members in that Guild, an' two of _them_ have been retired for years."

Ayala merely sniffed contemptuously at this snide rejoinder, as they made their way across a wide entrance hall to a small counter empty of any sign of life. Lady Calladyce on the other hand, breaking all the refined rules of a lifetime, laughed out loud.

—O—

"There's no bell." Helen glanced around the hall. "What do we do? Shout '_shop_', or something?"

The women examined their surroundings together, and all three immediately realised the room was well-kept and clean. There were a couple of comfortable sofas against the far wall; a solid table with writing materials and good chairs in the corner; and the floorboards were obviously scrubbed and clean. There was no sign of dust or dirt anywhere.

Just as Ayala was going to speak a curtain behind the counter was drawn aside, revealing a young petite Chinese-Singaporean woman. She took in her European visitors without batting an eye, then spoke in fluent English.

"I am Chén Jing, at your service." She bowed slightly to each in turn. "May I help you?"

"Yes. Good morning." Ayala spoke in a quiet friendly tone. "My name is Ayala Carrin. My late Great-Aunt Laura Channing was the owner of this hotel, which is mentioned in her will. I came out to see the property. I have some legal documents here which give details."

"Please come into my office, dear ladies." Chén Jing bowed again politely, without reacting visibly to this news. "We can talk in private there. I received your letter of some six weeks ago, Miss Carrin. It is a sad occasion that Mrs Channing has left us."

Chén Jing led them round the counter and through the raised curtain. On the other side was a short corridor ending in a single door. Opening this she ushered the women into a spacious room with a high light window and comfortable furniture. She indicated leather armchairs with a graceful gesture, while she herself took a wooden upright chair by the desk. She was dressed in an ankle-length light blue silk cheongsam embroidered with small green leaves. To Ayala's searching glance the Singaporean woman was probably in her early twenties.

A few minutes were sufficient to show the young proprietress the documents Ayala had brought with her. Chén Jing took the time to give these a close study, before handing them back with another smile.

"Mrs Channing was a fine lady." Chén Jing expressed some well-judged reflections on the previous owner. "She lived here in Singapore for some years, over a decade ago. I met her several times, as a little girl, when my mother ran this hotel."

"Could you tell me what sort of a business this is?" Ayala looked around the clean well-appointed office. "I mean, it seems rather superior to what I expected."

"We cater to the middle-class of customer." Chén Jing made a slight motion with her right hand. "Ship's captains; local businessmen and women; lower Government department officials, who work nearby; people of that standing. Our prices and services are somewhat outside the capacity of the ordinary tongkang worker, ricksha' driver, or shop-girl. That is not our trade. From the outside the hotel may seem—a little shabby, but that just blends in with the surrounding buildings. We do not put ourselves out to show-off—is that the correct phrase? But we provide excellent service. Mrs Channing required it that way, and we have followed her instructions."

"It certainly seems a well-run establishment." Helen smiled at the proprietress in her turn. "From what I've seen I wouldn't mind staying here myself. Do you think you'll make any changes, Ayala? As the new owner, I mean."

Ayala gazed at her friend with a slightly embarrassed expression, before replying.

"Well, Helen, there's something I haven't mentioned yet." Ayala shuffled through the handful of legal papers she still gripped on her lap. "I don't actually own the hotel. Technically, Miss Chén Jing does. That's to say, according to discussions I had back in London with her solicitors, my Great-Aunt had been selling shares in the hotel back to Miss Chén Jing and her mother over the last decade. There is only a one-sixth share left now. And in her will Great-Aunt Laura left this to me; but on the understanding that I should come out to look the business over, and if happy pass the shares wholly into Miss Chén Jing's hands. So I've brought other legal documents with me and a copy of the will to give you, Miss Chén Jing. From this point on _you_ are the single owner of the hotel."

Chén Jing bowed once more, apparently taking this news in her stride. Helen sat back with a partly open mouth, staring at her dark-haired friend, while Lady Calladyce simply appeared bemused. Ayala signed a document, which Chén Jing counter-signed with the other two ladies as witnesses, and the business was completed.

Five more minutes and the new proprietress showed the three ladies back to the street entrance where they exchanged goodbyes. The new hotel-owner had invited all three women to visit her the next evening for a celebratory dinner; which they had accepted with delight. It was barely one o'clock in the afternoon, and the crowds were as active and bustling as ever when they carried on along the uneven Quay. Helen was first to question her companion on recent events.

"Well, Ayala! That must be the shortest reign as a hotel owner on record." Helen waved a hand in a futile gesture, nearly knocking a straw hat off a passing Singaporean man. "Oops, so sorry! What was it? Four and a half minutes as a business opponent of Mr Claridge, then back to the day job! Why didn't you tell me?"

"Oh, I wanted to see with my own eyes what the place looked like, and who was running it." Ayala spoke consolingly her friend. "After all, it was all in my hands. If things hadn't been up to scratch I could have withheld the shares, and used my power to effect any changes needed. But that wasn't necessary. Miss Chén Jing runs the place perfectly, and it belongs to her now."

"It gives us all the more time to help Lady—er, I mean Callisto." Helen carried on undismayed. "You didn't tell us the name of the warehouse you wanted to find, Callisto."

"The Singapore Eastern Trading Company." Callisto consulted a piece of paper she produced from her small handbag. "At 214 Boat Quay. So it shouldn't be far away, I think."

As they proceeded down-stream along the dusty, somewhat dirty, promenade the river began to widen quite noticeably. Soon it formed a wide expanse with the opposite bank much further off. The surface was even more congested with armadas of tongkangs; some being propelled in either direction along the river; some tied up to the jetties or wharves or simple bollards along the river-wall; but the majority anchored in huge groups together, taking up most of the visible water surface.

They were all manned by various numbers of crew, or inhabited by what appeared to be entire families. All dressed in colourful clothes and wearing the ubiquitous straw-hat. Most of the tongkangs, all made of wood, were of a dirty stained grey shade. There was no attempt to paint them gaudy colours. Many were heaped to the gunwales with piles of fruit or vegetables, and obviously operated as mobile shops. While others had all sorts of miscellaneous cargo, either open to the elements or hidden under old tattered tarpaulins.

The noise, as Ayala, Helen, and Callisto wended their way through the crowds, was immense. The general whoops and screams from small steam winches set at points along the Quay; the crashing and banging of crates and metal objects being thrown down on stone surfaces; the cries of orders being given in carrying tones of anger, resentment, or deference echoed in every direction. And the milling throng chattered loudly, persistently, and without pause till Helen could hardly hear Ayala speaking beside her.

And all this was watched over by a brilliant sun showering waves of heat down on all and sundry; with an accompanying humidity that made the European women feel as if their clothes were wet rags; and by smells. It might be polite to talk about aromas and scents; but both these were missing from the river-front on Boat Quay. What persisted, and made its presence felt unremittingly, was an astonishing mixture of smells. The tang of river water mixed with all sorts of unknown and unknowable ingredients; the curious salty smell created by thousands of hard-working people squeezed close together all day; the tainted odour rising from the cobbles and flagstones, caused by the leavings of hundreds of four-legged animals who traversed the Quay daily; and a faint whiff of the real Orient, sandal-wood, peppers, spices of all sorts; with the misty ethereal flavours of a conglomeration of differing cooked dishes, wafting from the many eating-houses and restaurants, that was heady and overpowering in its capacity to make the passing stranger weak with hunger.

"Oh God! Ayala, I've got'ta have something to eat. I'm starving." Helen gave in to her inner being—that is, her stomach. "I'm _so_ hungry. Oh, smell that. What is it? I want some?"

"Char kway teow." Callisto was up to the challenge. "Rice noodles stir-fried in dark soy sauce with prawns, eggs, bean sprouts, fish cake, cockles, green leafy vegetables, Chinese sausage, and some fried lard. One of my favourite dishes. You'll like it, Helen. The restaurant over there, that's where the aroma's coming from, looks quite a clean well-set up establishment."

"Tell ya what, Helen," Ayala was smiling at the expression of unfulfilled desire on her companion's face. "We'll get Callisto's business seen to post haste; then come back here. The warehouse can't be far away."

"In fact, I believe that is it over there." Callisto pointed to a three-storeyed building thirty yards further on, where several Singaporean workers of both sexes were hastening in and out with heavy-looking loads. "See, the building with the blue flag on the roof?"

"Yeah. What flag's that? Ain't seen it before." Ayala shaded her eyes with one hand as she gazed at the warehouse's roof.

"It's the Singapore flag." Callisto gave her companions her closest attempt at a warm smile; though it still came across as something between a snarling hyena and an angry lion—but it's the thought that counts! "Actually, it's the British Straits Settlements flag; Singapore, Malacca, and Penang. They're all grouped together by the British, for some esoteric reason I've never understood."

"Quite pretty, ain't it." Helen, her mind on more important things, could only react in a weakly visual sense. "Blue, with the Union Jack in the top left corner beside the flagpole; and a large white circle in the outer section with—what're they—three red rectangles?"

"It's a little more complicated than that, Helen." Callisto spoke as they made their way towards the busy entrance. "A white circle holding a red rhombus or lozenge, that itself is cut by a white pall, an upside-down y-shape with three crowns—to signify the three Straits Settlements, y'see. I loved reading books on Heraldry, as a girl."

"Damn complicated flag, if ya ask me." Ayala led the way into the warehouse. "Somebody ought'a think about simplifying it. So, where do we go from here? Up that flight of stairs?"

"What's a rhombus?" Helen muttered this question as she navigated the stairs by holding the banister like a drowning woman, and raising her booted feet too high at each step. She didn't like heights. "I only ask."

"I ain't telling ya, an' neither's Callisto." Ayala could be unbending when required. "Go read a book. You know, those things with paper sheets inside, all covered over with words."

"Idiot!"

"That ain't nice." Ayala laughed robustly, she loved niggling her friend. "Don't worry Callisto. I'm tryin' to train Helen to be seen in decent company; but it's a trial. I have to admit."

"Idiot!"

"Now, now, darling. You're repeating yourself." The dark-haired Amazon lovingly put a strong hand on the blonde's shoulder. "Never mind. It'll all soon be over. Just think about that _char kway teow_. Callisto, is this the office door?"

"Yes, this is it." Callisto nodded with relief, as they approached the glass-fronted door. "Thank goodness you both came with me. Makes everything so much easier."

"Oh, no trouble." Ayala smiled. "Our main concern now is to take the voracious one here to that restaurant, before she starts eating the furniture."

"Idiot!"

"God Helen, give over." Ayala was still grinning though, not the slightest put out by her starving companion's lowly manner. "You're beginning to bore me, an' Callisto too."

"Idiot!"

As they entered the well-appointed office, and walked over to a counter staffed by a man and a woman, Callisto smiled again—holding her gloved hand over her mouth the while.

"Helen really needs that restaurant, doesn't she." She glanced from the blonde to the black-haired woman. "I never knew food could be so much desired."

"You should see what she does to her grub at breakfast." Ayala was all for continuing the fun. Even though Helen by this time was staring daggers. "I once saw an alsatian put its tail between its legs and run off when it saw her eating. Fact!"

"Idiot!"

—O—

"Chopsticks! You never told me we'd need to use chopsticks." Helen stared at the table, and the full bowl in front of her, as they all three sat round the restaurant table. "How can I eat this with chopsticks?"

"You can do your best. That's how it's done." Ayala, on her part, deftly picked up a piece of sausage with her own chopsticks and popped it in her mouth with unerring dexterity. "Anyone can use them. Ain't that so, Callisto?"

"Er, there may be exceptions." Callisto could see a calamity coming with the best. She tried to inch her chair away from Helen without being noticeable about it. "I'm sure, if she practices—"

"Oh God! This is hopeless." Helen let out this wail as a piece of chicken, dripping with soy sauce, slipped from her chopsticks and fell in her lap. "That's it! That—is—it! _Hey_, waitress! A spoon, a big spoon—as quick as you choose."

"You just need a little more practice." Callisto was now safely out of range of splashes.

"Don't be such a loser, Helen, use the chopsticks." Ayala wasn't letting her friend off the hook that easily. "They're easy, when ya know how."

"Idiot!"

—O—

**Notes:—**

1. Cromer is a coastal town in Norfolk, England.

2. The SS Ophir was owned by the Orient Steamship Company, of London. It was usually employed on the London-Australia run, though it also visited the Straits Settlements.

3. The Raffles Hotel in Singapore is still world famous.

4. Redfern were one of the top couturiers at this period.

5. Boat Quay was an area of Singapore River which was highly congested with river traffic. I have consulted old photos and texts in order to give as accurate a picture as possible. Boat Quay still exists today with several original buildings, mainly operating as excellent restaurants. The river itself has been cleaned up in modern times.

6. I use the old term ricksha, instead of the better known modern variant rickshaw.

7. The Langham Hotel and Claridge's Hotel are still famous London landmarks.

8. Straits Settlements Dollars were the units of currency in use at this period, 1911, in Singapore.

9. The British Straits Settlements flag, flown at this period by Singapore, is exactly as described.

10. A rhombus is a quadrilateral whose four sides are of equal length. When inclined at a 45° angle, in Heraldry, it is known as a lozenge.

To be continued in Chapter 2.

—OOO—


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